The Butterfly

Brave-winged, in orange-rose

Attire, the small,

Bright butterfly,

Climbs the pale stairway

Of the sky.

Her eye,

A shining hall

Of mirrored scenes, on she goes,

Intent on following

Her pathway,

Through earthlight, through deep dragonshadows,

Through rains, snows

And the valleys of the sun,

Glad to glimpse the white mountain

Through the green hills of morning,

Glad to hear the far call

Of the wild geese

Unlatch the gate of evening,

And glad to be

At one with the cosmic butterfly

Who sheds her peace

On all,

And soars in beauty

Across the song-lit steppes of being.

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